A Taste of New Orleans

C. and I are both quite fond of okra, but we don’t always know what to do with it. The flavor is purely vegetal, and you have no doubt that you’re Eating Plants, as Mr. Pollan advises us to do. But the texture goes so quickly from crunchy to chewy to mush that I am reluctant to experiment too much with this particular plant. That, thankfully, is what cookbooks and food blogs are for. I love the Ottolenghi recipe I’ve made before (which also works with green beans), and I was very pleased with my rendition of gumbo (though it is not much like C.’s favorite version, from Big Mamou’s in Springfield, MA). Okra can be very good fried, but I hate deep-frying anything in my own kitchen. 

So this week, I happened to remember one of the cookbooks I acquired while working for a publisher, Beyond Gumbo: Creole Fusion Food from the Atlantic Rim by Jessica B. Harris. Naturally, it’s got a half dozen or so options for dishes using okra. Creole Okra seemed like it would work very well over cheesy grits (Deborah Madison’s double-boiler version), and so that’s what we had for dinner.

Start with onion, or leeks if that’s what’s in your fridge. Saute them in olive oil until translucent.

Add minced celery, bell pepper, a hot pepper if you like, and a bit of tomato paste. Cook for five minutes.

Add chopped tomatoes and a few dashes of Tabasco sauce, and cook some more until things sort of thicken up. Theoretically, the tomatoes should be peeled & seeded, but those are tedious steps to take, so I didn’t bother.

Add the trimmed okra and cook, partially covered, for about 10 minutes, until the okra is just tender. 

The author suggests serving over white rice, which would surely be wonderful. Admittedly, I am a rice fanatic, so I always think that’s a wonderful idea. It was very good with the cheesy grits, too.

Creole Okra over Cheesy Grits

adapted from Jessica B. Harris

serves 4-5

3-4 leeks, cleaned & chopped coarsely

1 Tbsp olive oil

1 small stalk of celery, minced

1/3 c red bell pepper, minced

1 jalapeno pepper, seeded & minced

2 tsp tomato paste

2 large tomatoes, coarsley chopped

Tabasco to taste

3/4 lb fresh okra, trimmed

Cheesy grits for serving, from your favorite recipe, or white rice

Saute the leeks in the olive oil over medium heat until translucent. 

Add the celery, bell pepper, jalapeno, and tomato paste. Cook another 5 minutes. 

Add the chopped tomatoes & Tabasco, and continue cooking until the sauce thickens.

Add the okra. Cook another 10 minutes, partially covered, until the okra is tender.

Serve over grits or rice.

Throwing Things in a Bowl

“I don’t really know how this is going to turn out.”

That is a phrase that is heard rather frequently in my kitchen. Being a CSA member has helped boost my confidence in the kitchen when it comes to improvising. And I’ve also learned that vegetables that ripen at the same time, in the same soil, do tend to taste good together. Even so, it is usually with no small amount of trepidation that I translate, “Hm, what if I made tabbouleh with kale?” from passing fancy into lunch.

Usually, the process begins with perusing my cookbooks & googling the idea in question to see if I am treading new (scary but interesting) ground, or if others have provided a roadmap of sorts. And usually, it turns out that my ideas are not terribly original. Every vegetable-loving blogger, food writer, and cookbook author worth her salt has already been there and done that. Especially when kale is involved.

So I poke around, confirm that I’m on the right track, get some hints as to ratios. . . and then I ditch all those recipes and start throwing things in a bowl. This sort of meal doesn’t usually wind up being photographed, because my assumption is so often that it will not be worth even putting on a plate, let alone sharing with the world at large. But sometimes I get lucky, and discover that oh my goodness, kale tabbouleh is quite good! The brightness of the parsley sort of shines over the earthy kale, and the contrasting textures of the cooked & raw greens are really nice. The cucumber is wonderfully crunchy against the chewy bulgur and squishy tomatoes. I do recommend eating this rather soon after it’s made, because the cucumber gets a little funny if too much time goes by. Not inedible funny, just not quite as crisp, as it absorbs the lemon & olive oil.

Kale Tabbouleh

serves 4 or so, as a side salad

1/2 c medium bulgur

1 c vegetable stock (or water)

1 large bunch of kale, stems removed

1/2 bunch of parsley (at least 1/2 c)

1 small tomato

1/2 small red onion

1/2 cucumber

2-3 Tbsp olive oil

1/2 lemon

Put the stock (or water) and the bulgur in a small pot together, and bring to a boil. Turn the heat to low, cover, and simmer until it’s tender, 15-20 minutes. (Alternately, cook according to the package’s instructions.) Dump it into a strainer and rinse with cool water. Transfer to a large bowl.

Bring another pot of water to a boil. Salt it generously, and add the kale leaves. Cook for just a minute or so, then strain them, too, and rinse in cold water. Chop the pieces pretty finely, and add them to the bulgur. Squeeze in the lemon and add the olive oil. 

Chop the parsley (leaves & thin stems only). Dice the tomato and the onion. Cut the cucumber lengthwise, remove the seeds, and dice it. Add all of these things to the bowl and stir. Add salt & pepper to taste. Best eaten the same day.

For the Love of Harissa

I have been craving harissa lately. Harissa is a Tunisian condiment, common all over North Africa (and beyond). It is sweet and spicy and rich with olive oil and hot chile peppers. Try it on bread, eggs, vegetables, meat–I’ve even seen it used on pasta. Much like chimichurri in South America or sriracha in Southeast Asia, there are dozens upon dozens of variations, both homemade and available commercially. You may well have your own favorite recipe or brand; mine is from David Tanis’s book A Platter of Figs and Other Recipes. It’s got fennel, caraway, coriander, cumin, paprika, cayenne, and garlic. And I’ve had a serious yen for it the last few weeks. Luckily, my spice cabinet is very well stocked, so made up a batch the other night–and then had to figure out what to eat with it.

Something drew me to the combination of harissa and turnips. I’ve found turnips to be a little astringent in the past–I can’t help thinking of horseradish when I cut them up.  So I thought roasting them (with some other vegetables) would bring out some sweetness, and then drizzling with harissa would add a welcome bass note to the flavor profile of the dish.

“Other vegetables” ended up being carrots, Carnival squash, and beets. I wasn’t sure how beets and harissa would do together, but since it seems some recipes for harissa include pureed beets, I figured it would turn out ok.

While the veggies roasted (with a couple cloves of garlic, some thyme, a bay leaf, and a dried chile pepper), I cooked up a pot of bulgur. This involves boiling some water, dumping in the bulgur, turning off the heat, and leaving to sit (covered) until the rest of the meal is ready. It’s that easy, as Ina would say. You can use stock, too, if you like. I did not, but I added the same aromatics as I did to the veggies–bay, thyme, dried chile. And then when it was properly soaked, I drained it and mixed in some fresh parsley and mint.

By that time, the veggies were all nicely roasted. Note that many recipes for “roasted root vegetables” advise you to cut everything into roughly equal-sized pieces. This is not actually the best way to go, in my mind, in retrospect. Carrots are nice when there is still a little crunch to them. Turnips cook quicker than beets, and both must be cooked all the way through to be enjoyable. Sweet potatoes would be nice, but I had winter squash, and that cooks faster than anything else in the baking dish. Just something to think about for next time.

In the end, this is basically a salad: grain + vegetable + dressing. Normally I don’t bother to write about such simple meals, but there’s so much good flavor in this one that I’m making an exception.

Roasted Vegetables with Bulgur and Harissa
serves 4

1/2 lb each of:
    turnips
    carrots
    beets
    winter squash (or whatever sturdy vegetables you like and have on hand)
2 garlic cloves, lightly smashed and peeled
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
2 dried chile peppers
1 c bulgur
2 c water
2 Tbsp parsley, chopped
1 Tbsp mint, chopped
olive oil
salt
fresh ground pepper
harissa, to taste (Tanis’s recipe is available here, among other places–or use your own)

Preheat the oven to 400F.
Peel the vegetables and cut them into roughly bite-sized pieces, going a little smaller on tougher things like beets and larger on things that cook faster, like winter squash. Toss them into a baking dish with some olive oil, salt, the garlic cloves, 1 thyme sprig, 1 bay leaf, and 1 dried pepper. Roast for 25-35 minutes, or until the vegetables are cooked to your liking.
Bring 2 cups of water to a boil in a saucepan. Pour in a teaspoon or two of salt, and then the bulgur, along with the remaining thyme, bay, and pepper. Turn off the heat and slap a lid on the pot. Let it sit, 15-20 minutes, until the bulgur has absorbed all (or most) of the water. If there’s still water left in the pot when the texture of the grain is right, strain it through a sieve. Then stir in the chopped parsley and mint.
Pick out the aromatics from both the bulgur and the veggies, and combine in a big bowl. Serve with as much harissa as you like.

Alchemy

As most of you know, I’m quite fond of children’s literature, especially of the fantastical variety. The Harry Potter series, for one, has a place in my heart. But I have to say that one of my petty beefs with the American publisher is that they changed the title of the first book. It ought to have been Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, not the Sorcerer’s Stone. What is a sorcerer’s stone? I don’t know. But I do know that the philosopher’s stone is a mythical substance that is said to have the power to turn any metal into gold, a.k.a. alchemy. I learned about it first in one of my other favorite children’s books, Gone-Away Lake. Van Morrison even wrote a whole song about it. So I never really understood why Scholastic changed the title. Did they just like the idea of having the word “sorcerer” on the cover? Did they think American kids wouldn’t know the reference?

The preceding rant was brought to you by the power of word association. Because after making this dish, all I could think about was how magical it is to produce this glorious sauce:

from, basically, just a few eggplants:

and a very particular application of heat. It’s like starting with tin, doing a little magic with this philosopher’s stone thing, and presto! You have gold! Hence, alchemy. (See? There was a connection. There always is, even if it only exists in my head.)

I started with a pasta recipe from The Wednesday Chef, but I didn’t feel like pasta. I did, however, have a batch of cooked farro in my fridge, and a hunch that the sweet, soft, slow-cooked eggplant would play nicely against the chewy, nutty farro. (Spoiler alert: I was right.)

You’ll need a pound of eggplant, though this is only about 3/4. I don’t think the variety matters especially. Slice them into thick pieces, sprinkle with salt, and stack them up.

Which is a very clever way to salt your eggplant efficiently (not really necessary if it’s garden fresh, but a good step to draw out some of the water and bitterness if it’s store-bought) without using every single inch of cutting-board space you have available. Anyway, let it sit for 15 minutes, or more, or however long you have, then pat the slices dry with a paper towel and cut them into cubes.

Heat a smashed clove of garlic in olive oil–rather a lot of olive oil–over low heat.

When the garlic is fragrant, add the chopped eggplant to the pan:

stir it all up, and turn the heat to medium-high. Add some thyme and oregano, and let it cook until the eggplant starts to soften.

Add a cup of chicken stock (or vegetable stock, or water), bring to a boil, then turn back to medium-low and simmer, partially covered, about 20 minutes.

While the magic is happening, mince up some sundried tomatoes, and slice a handful of basil leaves (these are Opal basil) into ribbons.

Mash up the sauce with the back of your cooking spoon, season with salt & pepper, and add in the tomatoes and basil. All that’s left is to combine with the cooked farro (or barley, or wheat berries, or, you know, spaghetti).

And then you can perform another magic act: making something disappear.

Spicy Sweet

This week, we received our first beets of the season. It’s still pretty early, so they were smallish beets, and came (thankfully) with the greens still attached. The first time I ever cooked beets was in a continuing ed cooking class at Johnson & Wales. We boiled them, peeled them, sliced into wedges, and tossed with a honey/rosemary/cayenne sauce, and they were wonderful. I still find that I like that sweet/spicy combination to go with the rich earthiness of beets, and so I settled on a recipe for Orange Aioli with Grains and Roasted Beets for dinner the other night. Note that there are rather a lot of steps involved, 2 things that need to go in the oven, and unless you have leftover barley, 2 things on the stovetop. So a normal person might choose NOT to make this on a day when it’s 100F outside. But normal is not something I’ve ever been accused of impersonating. And one of the lovely things about living alone is that you can cook whatever you damn well please for dinner. Which I do, regularly.

The first thing to do is peel an orange or two with a vegetable peeler. It doesn’t matter what shape the strips are, though I found it was easier to go around the orange, latitudinally. (Which is not to say I didn’t scrape a finger or two on the peeler…) Place the strips on a baking sheet and cook for about 45 minutes at 250F, until they are thoroughly dried and quite hard. Let them cool, and then grind them up. You’ll need about a tablespoon, which seemed to be only 1 orange’s worth, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something fun to do with the rest.

Also the first thing to do is roast your beets. Or boil them. Whatever. My preferred method is to clean them, leaving the root and about an inch of stems, and put them in a baking dish with a half inch of water. Cover with parchment and foil (can’t honestly say why both are necessary, but it works) and bake as long as you need, depending on the size of the beets. I started mine about halfway through baking the orange peel, and then raised the temperature to 375 or 400F for another half hour, and they were perfect. When you pull them out, though, watch out for steam when you peel back the foil & parchment. Steam burns are a bitch and a half.

While the oven is doing its various things, throw some garlic and salt in a mortar & pestle and mash the shit out of it. Drizzle in a teaspoon of lemon juice and let it sit.

Then you can get on with steaming the beet greens (washed thoroughly, stems cut off). Note that if you are using red beets, even the leaves have enough pigment in them to turn the water pink. Neat!

Step three (or four? I’ve lost track) is the aioli. Which is Spanish for “spicy, garlicky mayonnaise.” Start with an egg and a teaspoon of mustard in the Cuisinart (you CAN do it with just a whisk, but I don’t recommend it. a blender would probably work fine, though).

Once that’s combined, leave the machine running and slowly drizzle in a half cup of vegetable oil (something neutral–I used grapeseed) and a quarter cup of olive oil. Observe the wonderful process of emulsion in all its glory. Finish off with the ground orange peel, the garlic/salt/lemon mix, and a bit more lemon juice.

Note that if you like your mayo especially spicy, just add more garlic. There is a strange thing that happens with raw garlic, which is that the finer you mince it, the spicier it gets. Something about breaking down cell walls and releasing some chemical? I don’t know. Ask Hal McGee.

Then it’s just a matter of tossing things together. Namely, the roasted beets (cut into wedges), the steamed greens, some barley (which was conveniently leftover in my fridge)

and the aioli.

Also check for seasoning.  Shockingly, I did NOT oversalt anything here, which meant that when I ate the leftovers for lunch the next day, cold, they were a bit more bland than I’d like.

I still have a bit of the aioli left, now, and I can’t decide what’s going to happen to it. It would be amazing with asparagus, which is no longer in season. Or potatoes. Or on a ham sandwich, if I had some ham… (That one was for you, Dad.)

End of Days

J. is moving to Washington, DC, at the end of the month. Which means only a few more opportunities for giving her some tips in the realm of vegetarian cooking. And in all this time we haven’t even made it through season 1 of Alias. But it is too sad to think about New York without J., so instead I’ll focus on the food.

For this week, I suggested we find a recipe that featured carrots, because I am kind of overloaded with them in spite of making three (3) jars of pickled carrots and one jar of carrot-ginger dressing (which, admirably, I have refrained from drinking, as tempting as it might be). J. has kind of a magic touch with finding recipes on Epicurious, and sure enough, she found one for Quinoa with Moroccan Winter Squash and Carrot Stew. Subbing in sweet potatoes for the winter squash, I had almost all the ingredients on hand, which is pretty remarkable.

What is less remarkable is that I forgot to charge either of my camera batteries after the last photo-worthy dinner, and my phone needed charging, too, so partway through cooking I had to resign myself to the business of cooking, and not photo-blogging. Such is life.

Anyway, mise en place:

The quinoa gets cooked with finely diced carrot and onion, and minced garlic, while the stew has all those things in larger chunks, plus a lot of spices.

As much as I love winter squash, sweet potatoes have such a similar flavor and texture and they are SO much easier to peel/chop/prep that in the future I might find myself doing this substitution more often.

By the time dinner was ready, my phone at least had charged enough to take a shot of my plate (garnished with cilantro and mint).

And it would have made a lovely lunch the next day if I’d remembered to bring the tupperware to work with me…

Winging It

K. and A. came over for dinner Monday night. I know that conventional wisdom dictates against trying out new recipes when you have guests, but I’m not a terribly conventional person.

Our first course (not pictured) was cold borscht, from A Platter of Figs, seasoned with cloves, coriander, bay leaf, and cayenne, and then finished with yogurt. I had never made borscht before (not entirely sure I’d even eaten it before), but I trust David Tanis kind of inherently by now. The beets I had were chioggas, which have the benefit of not staining everything in sight purple, an especially useful trait when they need to go in the blender. But the soup winds up not being the striking deep red that it would otherwise be. And I didn’t get the garlic chives I wanted to sprinkle on top. Hence no photo.

Our second course was stuffed peppers. In this case, not only is it a dish I hadn’t made, but I was flying without a proverbial net. I had those gorgeous purple peppers to start with, and then I basically looked in my fridge, freezer, and pantry, and tossed a bunch of stuff together. The stuffing I wound up with was royal quinoa and white northern beans, with a little onion, a hot pepper, grated parmesan, and summer savory.

Then for dessert, I followed Gourmet‘s recipe for plum clafoutis. This is one where I just suddenly decided on Monday that clafoutis was a great word, and that I absolutely had to make it. I thought it was going to be apricot but when I got to the greenmarket at lunch, I inferred that apricot season is over, but plum season is at its peak. So I got a couple of pounds of what are called Italian prune plums. I subbed in sweet Marsala for the brandy, and halved the plums rather than cutting them in eighths. But I think I can say that it was a total success.

I think I’ve accidentally memorized the recipe for clafoutis, which is only bad because I can see myself making it all the time. Which would maybe not be a bad thing…

Stuffed Peppers

5-6 bell peppers
1 c. quinoa
2 c. cooked white beans
1/2 onion, diced
1 hot pepper, minced
1 Tbsp summer savory, minced (alternately, 1 tsp. thyme)
2 Tbsp grated parmesan
olive oil
salt

Rinse the quinoa, and put it in a hot sauce pan over medium heat. Stir until the grains are almost dry and smell slightly nutty. Pour 2 1/2 c. water on top, add 1/2 tsp salt, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Check to see that it’s cooked through, and drain off any excess water.

Meanwhile, cut out the stems and cores of the peppers. Place in a baking dish and roast at 375F for 10-15 minutes.

Pour a little olive oil in a hot sauce pan (you can use the same one the quinoa cooked in if you’ve already drained the grains) and add the onion and hot pepper. Cook for a few minutes, until the onions are starting to brown, then add the beans and the fresh herbs. Stir until the beans are heated through, then turn off the heat. Mix in the quinoa and the grated parmesan. Taste for seasoning, and add more olive oil if it seems dry.

Spoon this mixture into the par-baked peppers, and stick them back into the oven for 20 minutes.

The Accidental Vegan

I am always surprised when I look down at my plate and I’ve made something vegan. My standard assessment of veganism is that I don’t believe in it, the same way that Mormons don’t believe in homosexuality. But just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Last night’s dinner, for example, the one I cooked while my little nephew in Durango cheered me on, contained absolutely no animal products. If I’d realized it at the time, I probably would have grated some parmesan on top, or cooked the veggies in some lard instead of oil. (No, that’s silly, the smoke point would be too high…) [addendum: I remembered later that I mixed in some fish sauce with the pasta dish, in lieu of a couple of anchovies. Not vegan. Whew.]

Anyway. Tonight’s dinner came very close to falling into the same trap, but was saved by honey.

Tonight, J. came over, for what is bound to be one of our last dinner-and-Alias nights, as she has made the decision to move to Washington, D.C. I hope we’ll have a bunch more dinners before the move, at least enough to finish watching season 1…

Our first course was Japanese Spinach with Sesame Dressing which is definitely one for the recipe box. (not an actual box) We subbed in mirin for saki because, guess what? That’s what I had. And it was delish.

Then, in an effort to make a dent in the stash of beets in my fridge, we did a version of Gingered Millet with Roasted Beets that also turned out pretty well, I think, and definitely increased my confidence in the beet-cooking department. I confess that I frequently buy those little French imported pouches of roasted, peeled baby beets, because cooking them is so daunting. I once tried to boil some and accidentally let the water boil off and almost ruined the pan. And gave myself a steam burn.

But thanks to this recipe, I now have better technique. It also helps to start with smallish beets. Scrub them, but leave on the tail and just the very end of the stems, and stick them in a baking dish with some water and a bit of salt. Then cover it up with parchment and a layer of foil (honestly not sure why both are necessary, but I’m not going to mess with something that works) and bake until they’re tender.

These were chiogga beets, a.k.a. candy-striped beets, which are not as striking as red ace beets but are still very pretty. Especially with wheat berries and yellow cherry tomatoes, and fresh basil and mint. The dressing has red wine vinegar, ginger, and honey (whew, not vegan).

I think I’m going to need to start planning a farewell dinner party for J. I know she wanted to learn to cook more vegetarian meals, but it’s probably going to involve some meat, because I will always think of her as a carnivore. Suggestions welcome.

Global Cuisine

I have this theory that your ancestry should influence your palate. This is, of course, a load of crap. I am Scottish and Austrian, and I have been scarfing down edamame since I could eat solid foods. Stoneledge made this particular taste a bit easier for me to indulge this week.

Pull ’em off the stalks, rinse thoroughly, and boil for 3 minutes. Then toss with some good quality salt. Consume mass quantities.

(Yeah, I might have overdone it with the salt this time…)

By this estimation, Mediterranean Beet and Yogurt Salad also doesn’t have a place my genealogical kitchen, but it sure is good.

Roast and peel the beets, then marinate in olive oil, vinegar, sugar, & salt.

Remember that beets stain.

Top with a mix of greek yogurt, minced garlic, salt, and chopped dill.

Also remember that when you really mash up some garlic cloves, they get very spicy.

Anyway. Back to my theory.

Since I’m Austrian on one side and Scottish on the other, I should be all over the meat and potatoes, and cabbage, and shortbread. And while it’s true that I love schnitzel, and I will go rather far out of my way to get my lunch at the Hallo Berlin street cart, I have only recently begun to delve into my paternal culinary heritage. I think this is partly because we’re not quite so fresh off the boat on that side, and because there is some weird shit that they eat in Scotland. Shortbread? Check. Cabbage? Check. (ok, that particular cabbage recipe isn’t overly Scottish, but whatever) Haggis? Smoked salmon? Uh, no, really not. Thank you, though. Skirlie? Oh dear lord, yes, absolutely.

Skirlie is another dish that falls under the category of Revelations. It might sound kind of like a disease, but so do a lot of other Scottish dishes. This is one that’s worth trying.

Got some random greens that you don’t know what to do with? Got some rolled oats stashed away in the pantry? Got something in the lily family? Finish it off with an egg or two cracked on top at the end of cooking, and you have yourself dinner.

For starters, you chop up your onion/scallion/shallot, and maybe an herb you’ve got handy (summer savory here).

Saute the scallion (in this case) in some butter/olive oil/ghee–

add in the fresh herbs for a minute–

and then toss in a cup of rolled oats. Stir it all up for a few minutes, until the oats get kind of golden and toasty.

Drizzle in a little water and keep stirring. Add just enough water that the oats soften up a bit.

Then dump in your greens (beet greens here) and stir it all up until the greens are wilted.

I didn’t add in any eggs tonight, but this is where you’d do it–just turn the heat to very low, crack a couple of eggs on top of the skirlie, and stick a lid on it until the eggs are cooked through.

And thus, I reclaim my Scottish heritage.

Easy Peasy Weeknight Dinner

I think I spent more time looking at possible recipes for dinner tonight than I spent actually cooking.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided I wanted to make some traditional Catalan-style spinach, so I bought some sultanas (aka golden raisins) and pine nuts, and then promptly ate that week’s spinach with something else and forgot about it. So tonight, in the midst of doing a couple of loads of laundry, while I was trying to figure out how to make a first dent in this week’s delivery, I remembered that plan. But it seemed like the Catalan elements would work better if I cooked them with the couscous. So here we go.

First, in goes the spinach in a big pan, just until wilted basically:

Then to prepare the couscous I wanted to serve it with:

I really can’t remember where I learned this (totally, completely non-traditional, will-get-you-punched-in-the-face-by-a-Moroccan) method of preparing couscous, but it’s awesome. Take some nuts, some dried fruit, a little salt, some olive oil (and whatever else you want–chopped herbs, shredded carrots, whatever), mix it all up with your hands in a bowl, then pour in some boiling water and cover it with a plate:

Oh, yeah, we need some protein, too. Good thing I’ve got those chickpeas in the fridge:

Toss the spinach back in:

I know the couscous LOOKS like a big boring beige mess, but trust me, it’s good:

And voila, dinner is served, and the laundry has still got 20 minutes to go in the dryer:

Catalan Spinach and Chickpeas with Couscous

1 bunch spinach (3/4 lb.)
1 c. chickpeas
2-3 cloves garlic, sliced
1/2 c. couscous
1/4 c. pine nuts
1/4 c. sultanas
salt
olive oil

Wash and trim the spinach, and put the leaves, still dripping, in a pan over medium heat. Cover, stirring occasionally, just until cooked. Remove to a strainer and set aside. Put on a kettle of water to boil.

Pour 1-2 Tbsp. olive oil in the same pan over medium heat again, and add the slices of garlic. Cook just until fragrant and lightly golden, then pull them out. Toss in the chickpeas and let cook while preparing the couscous.

In a heatproof bowl, combine the couscous, pine nuts, sultanas, cooked garlic, 1/2 tsp. salt, 1/2 Tbsp. olive oil. Mix it all up with your hands (it’s messy, but it really works better). When the kettle boils, pour in 3/4 c. water, stir it all up, and cover the bowl with a plate. Let sit while finishing up the spinach.

Roughly chop the cooked spinach and add it to the pan with the chickpeas, and a little salt. Let it all warm through then turn off the heat.

Remove the plate from over the couscous and taste to see if it’s done. If there’s still water left, pour it off.

Serve the spinach on top of the couscous.